Backlash

“That reminds me, cheerleading tryouts are this week,” she says to Bree. “Do you want to go through your routine with me before di

“No,” Bree says right away.

She couldn’t be more obvious about wanting to kill that idea in a hurry.

Still, I don’t blame Bree. Mom’s a frustrated cheerleader. She shows up at all the games with the school colors painted on her cheeks, like she’s trying to live out her regret that she didn’t make the cheerleading squad in high school through my sister. It makes me want to crawl under the bleachers — but if I say anything, she’s like, “Come on, don’t you have any school spirit?”

“Why not, Bree?” Mom persists.

“I just don’t, okay?”

“Bree, I —”

“Can’t this wait till halftime?” Dad says.

I can’t tell if he’s really upset that we can’t hear the commentator, or if he’s trying to shut them down before this turns into World War III, like so many conversations between Bree and Mom do these days.

“Yeah, it totally can,” Bree says, giving Mom a pointed look. “I’m go

“Don’t forget the butter,” I remind her.

“Not too much,” Mom says. “It’s already butter flavored.”

“But that’s fake butter,” I complain. “Real butter tastes better.”

Bree makes a disgusted noise and escapes to the kitchen to avoid the butter war.

Dad says, “Can we go for five minutes without arguing about something so I can actually watch the game? Timer starting … now.”

He looks at his watch. I turn my attention back to the game. Dad must be feeling lucky today. I’m pretty sure the longest we’ve ever gone without an argument is three minutes, ten seconds.

IF THE mayor’s speech goes on much longer I’m going to fall asleep on the stage. And seeing as how there are photographers from local papers and online news sites here, that will not go down well with Mom. Or His Honor, Mayor Robinson. But seriously, how many political speeches can one teenager be expected to stay awake for at a single event? So far we’re at eight and counting … Any more have got to count as cruel and unusual punishment.

It would be one thing if they actually said something interesting. But every single speech consists of the politician thanking all the other politicians and the people gathered to listen, before wrapping up with five minutes or more of bland generalizations about how proud they are to serve and democracy is great and blah blah blah God bless our town and the United States of America.

Because we’re in the front row, I can’t even check Facebook or Instagram or even send #Imbored selfies to my friends. I have to try to stay awake and look attentive, like the perfect politician’s daughter.

Syd, who is on the other side of Dad, looks like she’s struggling, too. We exchange a glance of mutual misery. I hope none of the photographers catch it. If they do, we’re going to be the ones who catch it from Mom.

When the thing is finally over, Mom makes us go over and say hi to the mayor.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” he says. “Two beautiful young ladies you’ve got there, Kathy.”

Mom gives him her high-wattage smile.

“I know. Smart, too.”

“Just like their mother,” the mayor says.

Gross. Political flirting, and in front of Dad, too.

One of the photographers asks if he can take a picture of us with the mayor.

So we pose with him — the perfect Kelley family. #LOL

“Can I take a picture with you?” I ask Mayor Robinson. I figure if I have to sit through hours of political speeches then I should at least have something to show for it.

Mom shoots me a disapproving look, but the mayor laughs.

“Sure,” he says. “If world leaders can do these cell-phone selfies, then I reckon it’s okay for Mayor Robinson of Lake Hills.”

I stand next to him and take a picture of us with my phone. When I check it, I realize Syd has photobombed it — there’s half of her face with a cheesy grin and one of her hands giving a thumbs-up.

But I can’t yell at her because we’re being a Perfect Family, and Perfect Siblings don’t argue with each other — especially not in front of the mayor and the assembled press, who have just snapped pictures of him and me taking a selfie.

“Thanks, Mayor Robinson,” I say.

“My pleasure,” he tells me, smiling.

We’re all smiling around here. My face hurts from having to smile so much.

While Mom drags Dad around for more political chitchat, Syd and I retreat to a corner and check our phones. I post my pic on Instagram and Facebook with the hashtag #chillinwithMayorRobinson.

And I count the minutes until we can go home.

“WOW, SHE’S turned into such a show-off,” I say when I see Lara’s #chillinwithMayorRobinson picture on Instagram.

“Who?” Mom asks.

“Lara,” I tell her, handing her my phone.

She reaches for her glasses, but she can’t find them. I don’t tell her they’re on the top of her head, because it’s kind of fu

“What does it say?” she asks.

“Chilling with Mayor Robinson,” I say, disgusted.

“Is that Sydney in the background?” Mom asks.

I look closer. “Yeah, looks like she photobombed it.”

“Let me see,” Liam says.

He studies it intently. “I wonder if Syd posted anything,” Liam says, pulling out his phone to check.

“Hand it over here,” Dad says, dragging his attention away from the game. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Why does she always have to brag about hanging out with the mayor?” I say. “She’s always posting pictures of them at the grand opening of some new restaurant or whatever.”

“It’s part of being a political family,” Dad says. “I bet you anything Pete Kelley would rather be hanging out watching the game than listening to speeches.”

“Maybe …,” Mom says. “But Kathy’s gotten pretty full of herself since she got elected to the city council.”

“She seems the same to me,” Liam says.

“That’s because you don’t have to deal with her in business,” Mom says. “I’ve been lobbying her about the tax breaks that would benefit my clients since I worked my butt off to help get that woman elected. Now that she’s in office does she help me, her friend and constituent? All I get are excuses about ‘balancing developer interests with environmental concerns.’ ”

Dad and Liam aren’t close enough to hear her when she mutters “The two-faced …” Her voice fades away before I can hear the end of that sentence. But it shocks me to hear her say something so horrid about Lara’s mom.

Still, at least she’s stopped nagging me about showing her my cheerleading routine.

I forward the picture to Marci and Je

Je

Marci sends a picture of herself with a ma

Making a joke out of it makes me feel better. Like I don’t have to be jealous of Lara anymore.